


Perfect Date

by themerrygentleman



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themerrygentleman/pseuds/themerrygentleman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing more nerve-wracking than the pressure and expectations of the "perfect date." Unless, of course, you're Samantha Traynor or Miranda Lawson, and you live a life where everything has to be perfect, all the time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Date

Samantha Traynor made her way down the bustling Silversun Strip of the Citadel, a bottle of very expensive wine in her hands and an anxious expression on her face. By the time she picked out Miranda Lawson’s apartment building from the Strip’s overwhelming jumble of neon and windows, her anxiety had become significantly more acute, and she had to pause for a moment to collect herself.

 _Steady there, Sam,_ she told herself bracingly. _It’s dinner. Just dinner. You’re not going to mess anything up. You are going to have a lovely, fancy dinner with the really incredible woman you’re dating, and you’re going to have a great time, damn it!_ This, she was uncomfortably aware, was the fourth such pep talk she’d given herself along the way, but then again, dating Miranda Lawson was nerve-wracking even at the best of times.

Even after more than a month’s worth of dates, Sam wasn’t even _close_ to being used to it all. The two of them had found themselves living fairly close to each other on the Citadel after the war— _which makes sense,_ Sam had reasoned. _Both of us have skills that are pretty highly in demand, and this is where all the action is._

A few chance meetings, a few longer conversations, and then a wildly exciting night of drinks and dancing at the Dark Star Lounge—and somehow it had all led to….this. For some inscrutable reason, Miranda was actually _interested in her,_ and so Samantha’s life now included a series of increasingly enjoyable dates with a woman who had literally been designed to be perfect. It had all taken on the character of a very vivid dream.

Sam caught sight of a passing turian giving her a very strange look, and blushed—she could only imagine what her facial expressions had been doing in response to her reflection. Seeing that Miranda’s building was now just a block away, she hurried on ahead, hoping her reddened face wasn’t too obvious to the rest of the passers-by.

One nervous elevator ride later, Sam found herself outside the door to the apartment, taking a very deep breath indeed. _Well, no point standing around dithering all day,_ she told herself sharply, and pressed the doorbell.

There was a momentary pause, and then the muffled sound of Miranda’s distinctly accented voice. “What do you…oh, Sam, is that you? Come in!”

“Yes, hi, I was just…” Sam stepped through the doorway into the apartment and stopped in her tracks, catching her breath in surprise. She very nearly dropped the bottle of wine.

There was a galaxy in the room.

The lights were dimmed, and Miranda was reclining on the long sofa in the center of the room, her eyes tightly shut with concentration. All around her, a dazzling spiral of little blue lights was slowly revolving in midair. More biotic “stars” were appearing out of thin air every moment and spreading out to hover in all corners of the room, bathing the apartment in a cool, flickering light.

Sam forgot everything she had wanted to say; she just stood there and stared at it all until she realized she’d been holding her breath without even noticing.

Finally she had to breathe, loudly and conspicuously, and Miranda lifted her head without opening her eyes. “Please, make yourself at home; this won’t take me much longer.”

“Um. Hi,” Sam responded, taking a few hesitant steps into the room. “Miranda, this is…it’s beautiful.”

“I try to do this once a week if I can get the time,” Miranda said, more “stars” appearing around her face as she spoke and casting dancing shadows across its contours. “It’s like a kind of meditation. It helps focus the mind, it hones concentration, and it lets me practice fine control over my biotic abilities. Always pays dividends to stay sharp.”

“That’s absolutely amazing,” Sam told her, turning in a slow circle to take in all of the sparkling lights drifting around the room. “I can’t do anything even _remotely_ comparable to this. I mean, I do yoga to relax sometimes, and of course there’s always Kepesh-Yakshi tournaments, but I don’t have anything this…spectacular.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Miranda replied, her tone warm with amusement. “I think you doing yoga probably _is_ quite a spectacular sight.”

“Well…that’s not…that’s different,” Sam muttered, acutely aware of the feeling of her face burning. Miranda had been flirting with her like this for a while now—even before they’d started officially dating—but she was pretty sure she’d never get completely used to it.

“I really am sorry to keep you waiting, Sam,” Miranda said, shaking Sam back out of her reverie. “I’m almost done with the routine here. Give me a few more minutes and then I’m all yours.”

The phrase _I’m all yours_ coming out of Miranda’s mouth made Sam’s heart go through a very interesting set of gymnastics, which probably showed all too well on her face, but fortunately Miranda’s eyes were still closed in concentration. Sam noticed that her voice sounded subtly strained, too, although she was obviously trying not to show it— _as well it might,_ she reminded herself. _I can’t even imagine trying to get my brain to do all that._ So she set down the bottle of wine, made her way to one of the apartment’s more comfortable chairs as unobtrusively as possible, sat down, and just looked up at the stars gliding across the ceiling.

She could still feel the beat of her heart, much louder and heavier than usual. _Well, Traynor, you’re well and truly done for now,_ she thought, her gaze stealing back over to the woman in the center of the sofa. _If this was ever just a casual crush and a couple of dates where I was concerned, I’m pretty damn sure it isn’t just that anymore._

Slowly, subtly, she began to notice something else, a change so slight that she wasn’t sure at first if she was just imagining it or not: the room was growing darker. A few moments later, she realized why: the little globes of biotic fire were starting to sputter and dim, and one by one, to go dark altogether.

For half a second, Sam assumed that this was just how Miranda’s biotics practice usually came to an end—turning off the “stars” one by one as an end to the whole routine. But then the silence was broken by Miranda muttering to herself, sounding more openly upset than Sam could ever remember hearing her before.

“No, no, _no, NO!”_ Miranda growled, and in a tremendous blue flash that left Sam blinking spots away from her eyes, all the “stars” flared and went out, leaving the apartment in near-complete darkness. A moment later, another burst of blue light erupted, to the accompaniment of an outright scream of frustration from Miranda and the sharp sounds of several somethings crashing to the ground and shattering.

Sam stumbled over to the door, tripping on no less than four different pieces of furniture along the way, and fumbled around for the light switch. Recoiling and blinking in the sudden, harsh glare, she gradually discerned the shards of the abstract vases that had once decorated Miranda’s living room, now scattered across the carpet, and Miranda herself curled up in a ball at the very end of the sofa.

“Are you all right?” she asked automatically, and was immediately and painfully aware of how _stupid_ that must sound under the circumstances.

“It’s fine,” came the reply. Miranda’s voice was muffled, and she was still keeping it under tight control, but Sam could hear the strain. “Never liked those bloody vases anyway. Mostly just kept them around to impress visitors.”

 _“Miranda._ ” Sam took a few slow, cautious steps toward the couch. “Look, clearly you’re not all right, and I…I don’t know why that is, but still, I’m _sorry,_ and if there’s anything I can do to help…um…if you want to talk…”

“No. Thank you, but no.” The reply was immediate and emphatic. “I’m perfectly fine; I just…need a moment.”

“Okay.” Sam sat down on the furthest corner of the sofa, stealing an uncertain glance over at Miranda’s tightly curled form. The two of them stayed there for a while, in near-total silence, and the same question kept running through Sam’s head.

_What the hell is the use of being a communications specialist when you have no idea what to say?_

After several long minutes had gone by, Miranda ended up being the first one to speak. “I’m sorry, Sam,” she said in a very small voice. “Didn’t want you to have to see me like this—so stupid—being upset over nothing. It just…got to me all of a sudden.”

“I could tell,” said Sam, a hint of a rueful grin crossing her face. “But don’t worry about me. What was it that bothered you so much?”

“Everything was going fine, and then I just _lost_ it,” said Miranda miserably. “My concentration slipped, I don’t know, and it all got away from me. I have to be _better_ than that. I usually _am_ better than that. And I don’t want something like this to happen when it’s actually important.”

If Sam was judging Miranda’s tone correctly, she was now actively trying not to cry. The thought of it stabbed at Sam’s heart, but she was still completely at a loss as to _why_ this was happening in the first place _._ “Miranda…” she ventured, after an uncomfortably long pause. “I—I know it’s upsetting, but is it really that big of a deal? It was just biotics practice, it’s not like it _was_ anything too serious.”

“No, it’s more than that,” Miranda insisted, uncurling from the ball and turning to face Sam again. Sam was relieved to note that she wasn’t actually crying—not yet, at least. But her face was even more pale than usual, and her expression, usually so hard to read, was unmistakably stricken.

“Look,” Miranda started, then glanced away and sighed. After a moment, she continued in a low voice, not meeting Sam’s eyes again. “For my whole life, people have been holding me to high standards. The highest standards you could imagine.” Gazing absently towards the window, she started counting off on her fingers. “First it was my father, the bastard, then it was Cerberus, then Shepard during the Collector mission, then everyone in the war against the Reapers. I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t have to be…well, perfect.”

She abruptly stood up and started pacing around the sofa. “The stakes have always been far too high for any mistakes to be acceptable. I’ve built my life around that—it’s just part of who I am now. I _always_ have to assume that someone is watching me and demanding the best. And if I think I can’t meet that standard—well, that’s just plain intolerable.”

“That’s….just not a healthy way to live, Miranda,” Samantha told her quietly. She was almost starting to feel sick listening to all this. She’d always known Miranda was a perfectionist, of course—it was impossible to have a five-minute conversation with her and _not_ know that. But until tonight, she’d had no idea just how deep it all went.

“Well, it’s not like it’s usually a problem! I’m not going to bother with false modesty, Sam: I _am_ very good. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I can meet everyone’s expectations—surpass them, even. But then something like this happens, and I get a reminder that I can’t keep it up forever.” A bitter smile flickered across Miranda’s features.  “I’m only human, after all.”

“Of course you are,” Sam said gently. “So what about _you_? What about what _you_ want, Miranda? There’s more to you than just what other people expect, I know there is.”

“Well, that’s the scary thing, really,” Miranda responded, her voice unsteady. She slowly sank back down onto the sofa, hugging the armrest at the far end and still not meeting Samantha’s eyes. “I’ve been keeping this up for so long that the professional front is very nearly all I’ve ever known. And whenever I tried to change that, to let things get personal, that meant danger. Just look at what happened to Oriana…”  
She finally looked up and met Sam’s eyes again. Her expression was contorted with anguish, and she only seemed to be holding back tears with a fierce effort of will. “And…and I suppose that’s why I’ve been so petrified about getting all of this wrong. You and me, I mean. You deserve so much better than to have me make some sort of stupid mistake because I’m not used to….well, to things getting personal. Samantha…maybe this was _all_ a mistake. Maybe you deserve better than me. But I don’t…I don’t want to lose you and I…” and Miranda Lawson crumpled, curling back into a ball and burying her face in her hands. Sam thought she caught the sound of a hastily stifled sob.

Sam opened her mouth to try to reassure the other woman, and found that she had no words.

“You know, it’s funny,” Miranda said a moment later, her voice about as far from humor as it was possible to get. “Everyone looks at me and thinks, ‘Oh, there’s Miranda, engineered to be perfect. Everything must be so _easy_ for her.’ But it’s not like that. Perfection has a cost too. And…and…” the rest of the sentence was stifled by another sharp sob, this one much more audible than the last.

Sam looked on, feeling utterly lost, her heart aching. Miranda drew a deep, shuddering breath and, after a painfully long moment, resumed speaking. “And that scares me. More than—more than anything else.” And with that, she buried her face in her hands again and began crying in earnest.

Sam still felt almost completely lost, but right at that moment, she was sure what she had to do. She made her way over to Miranda’s end of the sofa, put an arm around the other woman, and pulled her in as close as she could. Words still felt inadequate to her, but she was hoping that the hug would get across everything she wanted to express anyway.

“Miranda…” she ventured after a moment, then let out a long, nervous breath—she could already tell that this was not going to be easy. “I can’t pretend that I know everything about your life and what you’ve gone through. But I _do_ know a little something about feeling like someone is always watching, like you always have to pass some sort of test. And…well, I know what it feels like to be sure you’re not good enough.”

Miranda didn’t say anything, but she pulled Sam in closer and buried her head in her shoulder. Sam took that as an encouraging sign, and took a deep breath, trying to summon up the courage to continue talking.

“But…Miranda,” she said softly. “You _are_ good enough. You’re _better_ than good enough. Far better. Almost everyone I know is so impressed by you. You’ve done absolutely amazing things. Bringing Shepard back…taking down the Collectors…shutting down Sanctuary and helping fight back against Cerberus. And I don’t think anyone would care if you made one or two tiny little mistakes along the way. I mean, you _are_ still human. But even apart from that…if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that far too many people in your life have only cared about _what_ they wanted you to be, not _who_ you actually are. Miranda, I’m not going to think differently of you depending on what you can do. The _person_ is who matters to me. And you should know…er…”

She trailed off, suddenly aware of the sheer magnitude of what she was about to say. _Are you sure you really feel like this?_ asked an insistent, panicky part of her mind. _It’s only been a couple of dates, you’re moving too fast, you’re not ready to say something this serious, what if she doesn’t feel the same way…_

 _…No. I’m going to say it._ Forcing down the panic, Samantha leaned over until she was face-to-face with Miranda, and looked into the other woman’s eyes.

She could feel her face burning and her heart pounding and her hands shaking, but she _had_ to keep going, she _had_ to. For a moment there was complete silence in the apartment, and then…

“You _are_ perfect, Miranda, if you ask me,” Sam whispered. “But forget about the biotics, the genetics, the training, the expectations. None of it matters. You’re perfect just because you’re Miranda. Because you’re the incredible person you are. And that’s more than enough for me.”

For a single, terrifying, moment, everything went dead silent again, and Samantha had just enough time to wonder if she’d said the wrong thing and ruined her entire relationship with Miranda in an instant.

Seconds later, however, she was diverted from that train of thought by Miranda tackling her into a very emphatic hug. The sounds of crying continued from over her shoulder, but they had a very different character now, and Miranda was embracing Sam so tightly she began to fear for the safety of her ribs.

“Oh, _Sam,_ ” Miranda said breathlessly after a moment, sounding completely overwhelmed. “ _Thank you._ ”

 A shaky, relieved grin spread across Sam’s face. “You’re entirely welcome. I meant what I said, you know.”

“I do know. And I can’t even tell you how much it meant.” Miranda pulled back and kissed Sam’s collarbone a few times in a row, a light but intimate gesture that sent a shiver down the comms specialist’s spine. Even though she couldn’t see Miranda’s face, Sam could still somehow tell that she was smiling.

“Everything you just said to me—well, I could say it right back to you,” Miranda murmured, pressing closer to Sam again and burying her face in her shoulder. “You are so incredible. So amazing…in fact…oh, damn it all, I’m going to say it. You’re perfect to me too.”

Sam was now entirely convinced that she was in the middle of a very incredible dream, and she had to stop herself from actually laughing in surprise. “Me? Perfect? That’s a bit of a stretch, I’m sorry. I’m just…”

She wasn’t even sure what she was going to mention—her clumsiness, her anxiety, her social awkwardness, her hypochondria, anything from the long list of traits she’d cursed one night after another—but Miranda stopped her.

“Not _just_ ,” the other woman whispered, holding her closer still. “Never _just._ Sam, you’re so genuine, so talented, so smart, so funny, so…everything. Do you even know how much people think of you? How….” Miranda trailed off for a moment, apparently steeling herself to say something. “How much I’ve already fallen for you?”

There followed a moment of very loud silence.

“….oh,” said Sam very quietly indeed.

*

The elaborate dinner date, as the two of them had originally planned it, didn’t happen that night. Their long, emotional conversation had derailed most of their plans, but Sam found she didn’t mind in the slightest, and she had a strong suspicion that Miranda felt the same way.

So instead, they ordered pizza from a volus-owned delivery place that Miranda assured Sam was the best on the Citadel, broke open that bottle of expensive wine, and spent the evening in the apartment, just talking and enjoying being together. Sam told all of her funniest stories from her time serving on the _Normandy_ SR-2, anxious to lighten the mood after what had happened earlier, and was rewarded by the sight of Miranda’s old, familiar smile finding its way back onto her face, once even accompanied by a genuine burst of laughter.

Or perhaps it wasn’t quite the same smile as before, Sam decided. There was a warmth about it that she didn’t remember ever having seen before from the woman so many people had called an ice queen. And somehow, it felt more like it was directed specifically at her.

She quickly concluded that it was a change she liked very much.

Shortly thereafter, through a progression that felt so amazingly _natural_ that she never once stopped to question it, Samantha Traynor found herself in Miranda Lawson’s bed, snuggled up against the other woman under a large and comfortable blanket.

“Thank you for this,” she murmured, pulling Miranda closer until she could feel both of their hearts beating. “I still sort of can’t believe this is happening and I don’t even know what to—I just…thanks.”

“Thank _you,_ Sam. For a lot of things.” Miranda’s voice—filled as it now was with tones of sleepiness and affection and raw, unguarded emotion—could scarcely have sounded more different from her usual clipped, professional tone. “Would you be interested in staying here tonight?” Miranda asked her now. “Staying with me? I understand if you’d rather not, of course, I just--”

“I’d love to,” Sam answered her quietly, and reached up to kiss Miranda on the cheek.

And so the two of them remained there, in each other’s arms, slowly drifting off to sleep. As conscious thought slipped away into dreams, Sam couldn’t help but be amused at the irony of it all. For so much of her life, the galaxy had just seemed so enormous to her—so vast and complex and terrifying and exciting, filled with opportunity and danger. A nearly infinite space to go forth and discover. And usually, that was just the way she liked it.

But not tonight.

Tonight, as far as Samantha Traynor was concerned, the world was limited to just the room she was in, and the amazing woman curled up asleep in her arms. They might have just been floating there, alone, nothing surrounding the cozy little room but the darkness of space. To Sam at this moment, nothing else existed, because there was nothing else she needed.

Not long after that, consciousness dissolved altogether, leaving Sam happily asleep. But not before one more thought crossed her mind, a quiet private admission with the force of absolute certainty behind it.

And when she woke up the next morning to see Miranda looking back at her, the same thought still echoed through her mind.

_I’m in love with her._

 


End file.
